


The Dying of the Light

by RuleBritannia



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Character Death, Dreams, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Prompt Fic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuleBritannia/pseuds/RuleBritannia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on real dreams real people had, in a situation similar to the one depicted here, but real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4885.html?thread=6731797#cmt6731797

At the back of his mind, Douglas knew he was dreaming. His vision was hazy, and every noise was drowned as if he were under water. The cops in front of Carolyn moved their mouths, but nothing they said made any sense. Still, he knew what they were saying. 

Arthur was huddled in a corner, sobbing his heart out. Carolyn’s face was made of stone

Some words, phrases, seemed to float around him. They went past him, leaving no other impression than a confirmation of something that couldn’t have happened. _A student found him…. Three days ago…._

_Didn’t leave a note…_

%%%%%%%%%

It had been an utterly ridiculous dream, not even worth the time he spent thinking how ridiculous it was. But it had left him with a soporific heaviness that followed him hours after he’d woken from it, startled and in tears. Of all the things you could say about Douglas Richardson, however, that he was superstitious was certainly not one, and there was no better way to face that lingering dread at the back of his mind, than head on. So, once they were up in the air, post-takeoff checks complete, Douglas turned to Martin with his best smile.

“Famous people who died unexpectedly,” he said, game voice on. Martin looked at him with his customary confusion, so he provided: “John Lennon.”

“Oh, ok…” Martin took his time, as usual, and Douglas let him. “Kurt Cobain?” 

%%%%%%%%%%

It was a hospital now, generic in the way dreams, and hospitals, are. Arthur sat beside him, his face blank, tearless and emotionless. It was so obviously not Arthur that Douglas felt a bit ashamed of his own subconscious. There was the same haziness of sight and sound, that made him think of seeing the world through a plastic bag.

Carolyn was arguing heatedly with two people he had never met, but knew to be Simon and Caitlin. The siblings looked bitter and disdainful, Carolyn looked outraged and indignant. 

Through their argument, he could only make out two words, _the body_ this and _the body_ that; thrown around carelessly over and over, and making him want to throw up.

%%%%%%%%%%

“Nightmare?” Martin’s voice cut through his ragged breaths and Douglas turned to look at him, sitting still in uniform at the edge of his bed, barely outlined by the dim light of the lamp on his side of the room. One glance at the bedside table only proved he was still too asleep to make out what time it was, but it was already late when they’d arrived.

Douglas grunted and sat up.

“A stupid one, at that. Must have been something I ate.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Martin said softly, disappearing into the small bathroom. 

He’d never had recurring dreams before, if you could even call it recurring. They were supposed to represent anxieties and fears, or some such. Well, while he was surely averse to the idea of anyone dying, it wasn’t an ever-present fear in his mind; there was no reason for it. It had to be something else, and it was obviously related to the young man returning now with a glass of tap water and a shy smile. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” Martin resumed his seat at the edge of his bed, sitting a little straighter than before. “Can’t sleep?” he asked conversationally, settling the glass on the nightstand.

Martin shrugged and looked away.

“I think it might be jet-lag? No idea, it’s never happened before.”

%%%%%%%%%%

Now it was raining, down-pouring viciously and making the world look blurry from the window of the car. Really? Could this get any triter?

Next to him sat Carolyn, the figure of stoicism, all clad in black, with one of those funny hats older women wore to funerals, and next to her, Arthur, or the same cardboard caricature of Arthur, staring blankly into space. 

He made an effort to wake up, if only to be spared the cliché. His subconscious wasn’t even making an effort to make it look believable really, and he was feeling nothing but detached boredom to the whole pointless experience.

 _“It’s all my fault,”_ said cardboard Arthur, in an appropriate monotone. 

Douglas would have rolled his eyes if he’d been able to.

%%%%%%%%%

The darkness of his bedroom was a little oppressive, but he stayed motionless, staring at the point where his ceiling would be if he could see it. He wished Helena was still there for him to curl around her and dissipate the stupid anxiety brought on by an appallingly poor attempt from his mind to tell him something. 

Annoyed, with himself and the world in general –as one is when sleep-deprived- he reached blindly for his mobile and dialed by heart. It was his fault, anyway, so tough luck for the scrawny captain.

It only rang once before Martin picked up, not giving him time to come up with a proper excuse.

“Douglas, do you know what time it is?” No hello, and certainly no indication that he’d been abruptly awoken. Douglas was miffed enough that he took this as an affront.

“My, my, aren’t we snarky. Still unable to get your beauty sleep?”

“That’s… That’s… Don’t turn this on me!“ He could hear him getting flustered. “Why are you calling at three in the morning?”

“Well, I… think I forgot a book in the portacabin and, since you are always such a diligent little bunny and stay there well after-hours, scribbling away, I thought you might have seen it?”

“Ugh, Douglas! I haven’t seen your bl…blasted book! Go back to sleep..” 

%%%%%%%%%

Of course his mind picked from the things he knew, and hadn’t bothered to create a fictitious crowd, but even for a fake funeral, it was rather saddening how few people had turned out. A few college kids, a few from the ground crew, barely more than ten people in total.

Douglas made his way to the casket. Arthur was standing next to it, staring at the corpse. This time he at least had a few tears running down his face, and Douglas instinctively, if quite futilely, placed a hand on his shoulder as he followed the young man’s gaze. 

It shocked him, how much his mind had stored away about Martin that he hadn’t realized. Of course, all the details- like the precise location of the freckles that were now barely visible under the make-up- could have been figments of his imagination. He was hardly going to verify the information once he woke up again. 

The boy – _he was just a boy,_ he heard someone say in the background- looked peaceful, relaxed. So unlike him. Arthur, beside him, spoke in a whisper that seemed to him to reverberate across the whole room.

_“Do you think he knew how much we loved him?”_

%%%%%%%%%

The flight deck was in darkness, both pilots relishing on a bit of rest to their eyes after only half of a long flight. Douglas needed it. He was haggard, exhausted. Four days in a row of silly, inconsequential nightmares had left him drained and worried he was in need of a trip to the shrink. Martin liked it because he pretended they were on a fighter plane. 

He’d tried to catch some sleep in-flight, but it had been useless, his brain taking him back to the stupid sequence every time he reached a deep enough sleep. Martin, on the other hand, seemed to have overcome his insomnia. There were no bags under his eyes, no sickly pallor to his skin. He sat there, eyes half-closed, with a contented smile on his face. 

Douglas studied him carefully. He really needed to check that brain of his, because there was no way in any level of hell that Martin would take his own life. Not Martin, who had never in his life known when to give up, thank the gods. 

“This is heaven, isn’t it?” Martin mumbled with a sigh. Douglas winced.

“Not quite, I doubt they have a place for me there.”

Martin tsk-ed and turned to give him a small, pleasant smile.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure you can talk your way in.” 

Douglas laughed wholeheartedly. 

“I think you’re probably right.”

“Charming your way past St. Peter, like an otter.”

“Hey!”

They stayed in silence a bit longer. Douglas felt a bit better, to be honest. It seemed like talking to Martin was the only thing to bring him out of whatever daze the dreams got him into. Still, something kept circling his thoughts, over and over. Douglas sighed in defeat. It was better to make a fool of himself now, than regret it later. He cleared his throat.

“You know, Martin?” The young man turned to him placidly. “After all this time, after all we’ve been through, I have to say you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

He expected mockery, or even embarrassment, not a lone tear escaping from Martin’s eye. Then Douglas saw it, just for a moment, the raw loneliness in that _boy’s_ gaze, the deep sadness and near despair. It left him breathless and afraid.

Unease crept up his spine, and he moved to turn the lights back on.

“Thank you,” Martin said a bit brokenly, “I… I just wish…” Douglas wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t hear him, as he desperately fought with the switch that wouldn’t respond. “I wish you’d told me… no. I wish I hadn’t been so blind.”

He froze, panic and… and- **God** \- grief, seizing him, closing his throat. He tried to laugh, he suddenly felt like he was falling.

Strong arms caught him, and the light suddenly blinded him.

“Douglas?” Carolyn’s steady and unnaturally calm voice reached him through the white.

At the sight of the coffin, half covered in dirt before him, at Arthur’s worried, yet distant gaze as he held him steady, at Carolyn’s eyes so dark with unshed tears, Douglas Richardson woke up, and cried.


End file.
